


Souls in Growth

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Lambliff Big Bang 2011, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the tour, Tommy finds his gay, Adam goes silent, and Mombert puts her foot down. Also there's comfort food, good friends, and hot chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Souls in Growth

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of _fiction_ using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. Which, IMO, is a very sucky thing. Just sayin'.  
>  **A/N** An entry in LJ's [Lambliff Big Bang](http://community.livejournal.com/lambliffbigbang/). Massive thanks to vl_redreign, sunshinyday5762, thraceadams, and technicolornina for prereading and/or plotting and/or (mostly) listening to me bitch and moan. And *hugs and ♥* to a_dreamwithin for stepping in and pinch hitting with some absolutely fantastic art!  
>  **Art Post:** [Thank you, a_dreamwithin!!](http://a-dreamwithin.livejournal.com/16753.html)

Tommy groans and, reaching blindly with one hand, drags his pillow over his face. What the fuck had he been thinking last night? Better question, what the fuck had he been _drinking_ last night? The way his head is going off, Tommy's thinking he had to have cleared half the bar.

Then the bed shifts under someone else's weight and his head just fucking explodes.

Beneath the protection of the pillow, Tommy winces. Good fuck. He brought someone home. When he was drunk off his ass… he brought someone home. The night was obviously much more interesting than he remembers. He silently shoots off a quick _please let her be cute_ , followed by _and not a fucking crazy fan_ to the universe, and pushes the pillow off his face. Then wishes he fucking hadn't two seconds after the pillow is gone.

Because the chick in his bed? Is a goddamn dude. What the actual fuck?

Closing his eyes, Tommy tenses his muscles, squeezes his ass cheeks together and then releases. Nothing feels different. He doesn't feel like he's been fucked, or at least what he's imagined it would feel like the next day. Because, yes, he's totally imagined Adam fucking him into next week. And, really, that should have been his first clue that given enough to drink and no one around to rein him in, he would totally wake up with a guy in his bed.

A goddamn guy. Jesus fucking Christ.

Tommy swallows the overwhelming desire to laugh hysterically. He is so not going to lose his shit in front of whoever the fuck is in his bed. Instead he tries to make his brain remember what happened the night before.

Monte. He met Monte and Immerman at some little dive bar. Supporting a friend in the business. Monte ducked out as soon as the guy finished his set. And not to be a dick, but Tommy hopes that Monte pulled the dude aside and gave him some pointers.

There were more drinks – obviously – and a pool table. Shit talking with a group of guys and bets being laid on the table. Then a phone call came in and David muttered about having to leave, offering to share a cab with Tommy. But, fuck, for the first time in a long damn while, Tommy was having fun that didn't revolve around Adam or Terrance or even Isaac. It was nice. So Tommy stayed.

And evidently brought home a party favor. With a dick.

Tommy huffs softly, caught between amusement and mortification. How in the fuck was this even his life?

Biting back a groan, Tommy pushes to an upright position. When his stomach rolls but then settles, Tommy sighs. That's one less thing for him to worry about right now. Somehow finding a man in his bed overrode the shit part of the hangover. Bonus.

He makes a list: start the coffee, take a shower, get rid of what's-his-name. After all of that, maybe he'll feel like checking on the world outside his humble little home.

Then he sees the condom on the floor and everything kind of tilts sideways again. Because, _ho fuck_ , there's proof that there was some serious sex happening last night. Tommy flexes his ass cheeks again and then, when there isn't even a twinge of discomfort, he bites back another burst of laughter.

Apparently he's a toppy little fucker when he's drunk.

* * *

  
Jake – and, yes, Tommy felt like a total ass asking his name again – leaves with a smile, happy enough to accept Tommy's noncommittal 'maybe' when he asks to hook up again. It's only after his guest is gone, and Tommy is stripping down the bed, that he thinks about checking his phone again.

He's got about a million @replies waiting for him on Twitter. When he reads the first one he pales and drops to the bed. "Holy fucking shit."

They are all, every single one of them, from fans. And none of them sound like he's going to like what he finds.

> @TommyJoeRatliff… thought @adamlambert was the one exception.
> 
> @TommyJoeRatliff Can't wait to hear the explanation for this.
> 
> @TommyJoeRatliff Nice. Not @adamlambert, but still… nice.
> 
> @TommyJoeRatliff YOU'RE A LYING LIAR WHO LIES. NOTHING STRAIGHT ABOUT THIS. http://tinyurl.com/38rxuup

He follows the link with a hard knot forming in his stomach. And then has to run to the toilet when the picture loads, the absolute need to vomit slamming into him like freight train. He loses his coffee and then, eyes watering, keeps retching, stomach cramping and rolling despite its empty state.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He wipes his face with his t-shirt, then stumbles to the sink and, cupping water in his hand, rinses his mouth. Tommy strips the shirt off and tosses it towards the hamper before sliding down the wall and sitting on the bathroom floor. He inches closer to the commode just in case.

With a shaking hand, he picks up his phone from the floor and looks at the picture again. It's him and Jake, outside the fucking bar and all fucking over each other. Larger than life and not blurry at all. There's not a chance in hell that anyone will mistake Tommy for someone else.

His first _real_ gay experience and it's all over Twitter.

"Of course it is," he rasps out. "Because this is my life."

This is worse than one of those fucking chick flicks Mia insists on watching every few months. But really, it should've been expected. Seeing as his life has been nothing but a Lifetime Movie of the Week played out in the press since Adam sucked his goddamn face off at the AMAs.

Thinking of Adam has Tommy lunging for the toilet again. This is so not how he wanted Adam to find out that he kinda, sorta, _obviously_ isn't completely straight.

Then his phone goes off with Monte's ringtone and someone starts banging on the fucking front door and, in between the bouts of dry heaves, Tommy finally gives in and releases a high-pitched laugh.

His last thought, before flinging his phone to the side and dropping his head to his knees, is at least the guy was hot.

* * *

  
Tommy wakes up curled in a ball on his bathroom floor. It takes less than a minute to remember why he's in the bathroom, half-naked and hurting like a bitch, with a mouth that tastes like ass. Hairy fucking ass. "Fuck."

He drags a hand over his face and up through his hair, and, using his other hand against the wall to brace himself, works his way to standing. This day? Officially sucks.

Tommy reaches in and starts the shower, turning the water to steaming ass hot. Shower first. And then some food. And, depending on just how shitty he feels after that, a fucking drink.

Stripping off, Tommy steps into the shower and makes quick work of getting clean. He's not interested in soaking, in using every drop of hot water in the tank. Not this time. There's too much on his brain to actually enjoy the water pounding down on his shoulders.

It's when he's dripping all over the floor, wrapping a towel around his waist instead of actually drying off with it, that he spies his phone again, just outside the bathroom door. He almost hopes it's busted all to hell. But his luck is nowhere near that good today and all it takes is powering up and the bitch starts going off again.

He's tempted to ignore it. To shut it back down and pretend that, oh, hey, his life is fucking normal. But look at where that got him last night. Splashed all over Twitter macking on some guy. On Jake.

Tommy shakes his head and, thumbing through his missed calls, stumbles to the kitchen. He seriously has got to eat. Monte. Mia. Immerman. Lane. Lane five fucking times. She's probably given birth to a whole litter of kittens by now. Dave. Isaac. His mother. Good fucking Jesus Christ. Is there anyone who missed the implosion of the internets?

He pulls a box of cereal off the top of the fridge and a bowl from the cabinet. It's not what he really has the taste for, but it is fucking fast and easy and here. Doesn't require him stepping outside and facing the sunshine. Tommy drops his phone on the counter and starts crunching his way through the bowl of Wheat Chex.

He's being a total pussy about it all. About looking through his text messages. About talking to his friends. He knows he's being a pussy about it. And it pisses him off. Chumping out has never been his style. Frowning, he mutters around a mouth full of cereal – _man up, fucker_ – and snatches the phone up. If he's a little vicious when he pokes the icon for texts, it's his secret to keep.

The list of texts mirrors his missed calls, adds Sasha and Sutan and Terrance to the list of people checking on him. The only person Tommy actually wants to talk to is, of course, the only one who hasn't blown his phone up. He can't really say he's surprised.

He sends off a series of texts. All variations of _I'm fine. Call tomorrow._ and then shuts the damn phone down. He needs peace and quiet and some quality time with an old favorite movie and his goddamn bed.

The fact that he spends more time thinking about Jake and the snatches of last night he's pulled from the drunk recesses of his mind, and about how, yeah, he was so fucking tempted when the dude offered a morning repeat is just another secret to keep.

* * *

  
"Open this door right now, Ratliff! I won't go away today!"

Tommy rubs at his eyes and fishes a pair of sleep pants out of his dresser. "Yeah, yeah, coming!"

He pit stops in the bathroom and then, glaring, swings the door open. "Did you not get…"

His words shut off with an _umpf_ as Mia barrels into him and squeezes him in a fucking back breaking hug.

"What the fuck, Mia?"

She pulls back and offers a grin. "Thought you could use that. Probably needed it more yesterday, but oh, no. You were being a little bitch."

He flips her off and heads to the kitchen. No way is he telling her she's right, that he totally could have used it yesterday.

"So," she says, dogging his every step, "what the hell, Teej? A guy? Always figured if you went that route it'd be with Adam."

"Yeah," Tommy snorts, measuring out coffee grounds and water. "Seems my drunk self thought Jake was just fine, thanks so much."

"Jake?"

Tommy rolls his eyes and pokes Mia in the side. "Don't act stupid. I'm sure his name is plastered all over Twitter."

"Pretty much. Along with a couple more pics." Taking the milk out of the fridge, she cuts a sideways glance at Tommy. "You were definitely into it."

"He's pretty hot." Tommy recalls the broad shoulders and sun-streaked hair. Definitely pretty hot, in that California beach boy kind of way.

"Yeah," Mia agrees. "And pretty stand up. Nothing from him on the net at all."

That surprises Tommy. He'd expected the exact opposite. Which says a lot about his faith in humanity. "Really?"

"He probably didn't even know who you were."

"Oh, he knew." Tommy remembers that part clear enough. The subtle cant of Jake's head when he'd introduced himself. The man knew exactly who Tommy was.

"Maybe he's just not the type to cash in on it."

"Or he's waiting for the best offer."

Mia reaches around Tommy and grabs a coffee mug. "Fuck but you're a cynic, Tommy-baby."

Tommy ignores her in favor of his coffee, eyes fluttering shut with the first sip. He was never so much of a coffee whore until the tour. Then the caffeine became a damn lifeline.

"There're donuts in the car."

Arching a brow, Tommy asks, "And you didn't bring them in with you, why?"

"Thought that'd be the only way to get your skinny ass out the door."

He sticks his tongue out, thinks about flipping her off again, then, heading to the door, laughs. Damn if the girl doesn't know him. For donuts, like tacos, he'll brave the great outdoors. "Better just be donuts out here."

"Just go get the fucking box, Ratliff. I'll have your laptop up by the time you get back."

Tommy curses. Long and loud and extremely heartfelt. Figures she'd make him hit this shit head on.

* * *

  
After pushing Mia out the door, the first call Tommy makes is to Monte. He's saving Lane 'til after he feels out a few others. The woman scares the shit out of him on a good day and, after listening to her voice mails, he knows that right now cannot be classified as a good day. "Hey, man."

He laughs softly when Monte's first question is, "How drunk were you?"

"I knew what I was doing." He's figured that much out. The morning after may have been fuzzy, but sleep and food have cleared enough of the haze away. He fucking-a-well knew what he was doing. And who he was doing it with. "Didn't think it'd be all over the fucking web, though."

He puts Monte on speaker and opens the freezer, grabbing a couple of frozen pizzas and filling a glass with ice. Good enough for dinner tonight.

"How did you not think it would be all over the web?" Monte's voice is distorted with a slight echo humming in the background.

Tommy shrugs, then remembers Monte can't see him. "The place wasn't exactly well known, and really, the paps follow Adam. He's not even in LA."

He can practically hear Monte's eye roll. "The chicks follow you, you twit. And it's not like you blend in very well."

There is that. The hair and eyeliner are kind of identifying. "Whatever, man. What's done is done."

Tommy can thank Mia for that frame of mind. It took her well over two hours and more than a couple of screaming fits to get him over the hump of holy-Jesus-fuck. It was another hour of her dog with a bone abuse before he admitted that it wasn't completely unexpected, that guys have been popping up in his jerk-off fantasies for a while now.

"What's done is done? Are you kidding me? Have you even looked at the gossip rags?"

"Yeah, and blaming Adam is ridiculous." TMZ and Perez could both kiss his ass, as far as Tommy's concerned. Given half the chance, he'll tell them that too. "I'm thinking I'm old enough to know where I want to put my dick."

It sounds good. And for the moment, Tommy actually feels it. Doesn't mean another meltdown isn't on the horizon though.

"Huh." Tommy hears the thoughtful pondering in the word. "I expected you to be freaking out."

"Shoulda seen me yesterday or even a couple of hours ago." Tommy slides the pizzas into the oven and takes a few sips of his water. He's saving the cold beer until the pizza is done. "Mia came over and pulled my head outta my ass for me this morning."

Monte laughs harder than Tommy thinks is really necessary. "Bet she's hell on wheels when she's on a mission."

"Dude, she's hell on wheels all the time." Tommy checks the clock. "That all you want to say?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Yeah, Tommy's thinking not just that. "And?"

"You planning on seeing this guy again?"

He's got Jake's number. Laying right there on the counter. He'd be lying if he said calling hadn't crossed his mind. "Maybe."

"Uh huh." There's more to the statement, Tommy can feel. Checking the pizza, he just waits. Monte'll get there when he gets there. A lesson Tommy learned somewhere in the middle states. Waiting pays off. "Heard from Adam?"

The question hits Tommy in the gut. Because, no, goddammit, he hasn't. And Adam hasn't missed a day texting Tommy since they met. Even crowded on the same fucking bus for weeks at a stretch, Adam texted daily. And that makes the silence fucking deafening.

"Nope. Should I have?"

"Don't try using that who gives a fuck tone with me, Tommy Joe."

Tommy pulls the pizzas from the oven, twists a beer open and takes a deep swallow. Then he answers Monte. "He'll call when he calls."

"Or you could call him."

Tommy's brows shoot up. "Not like I did anything wrong. We weren't dating, all that shit on the stage wasn't real."

Monte snorts. "You really think that all that shit _wasn't_ real by the end?"

"Doesn't matter, Monte. And, to be honest, it's better this way." Another thing Tommy hashed out with Mia. "The right-wingers would have a field day if it was me and Adam."

"Except that the right-wingers are still having a field day and both you and Adam aren't where you want to be."

Point. Not that Tommy plans on telling Monte that. "You're wrong, man. If Adam wanted to be here, he would be."

"No, he wouldn't. Not after respecting your boundaries and thinking that you were maybe making something together despite having the whole damn world watching." Monte sighs and curses under his breath. "You don't get it, not at all. Everyone, including Adam, figured if you went there, it'd be with him."

Oh. Oh, shit. "Fuck."

"Exactly. Call him, Tommy."

"Yeah, maybe." Later. When he's not on the edge of another fucking freak out. Because, fucking hell, if what Monte's saying is true – and, really, why would Monte lie? – then right now Adam is all sorts of pissed and hurt and on the other side of the damned country at some freaking promo thing. He's completely out of Tommy's reach.

"At least text him. Unless you don't want…"

"No," Tommy snaps. "I do. I will. Look," he sighs and tips the beer back again, "I gotta go."

"Call me if you need anything, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Tommy ends the call and, pizza forgotten, grabs another beer. He pulls up Adam's name and stares, thinks about what he could possibly say in a text message that won't sound completely stupid. He settles for what he usually sends when Adam is gone.

 _Work hard/play hard. See you when you get back._

Tommy falls asleep on the couch waiting for Adam to return his text. He wakes up to an empty phone too. One look at Twitter explains it all. The pictures of Adam, clubbing in Miami, are no more blurry than the ones that hit of Tommy and Jake.

And then there's Adam's tweet: _Working hard. Playing even harder._

Pushing the hurt aside, because obviously Monte was very fucking wrong about Adam and his goddamn feelings, Tommy stretches and snags the card with Jake's number on it.

Dialing is easier than Tommy expects.

* * *

  
Anderson is leaning against the door when Tommy pulls into his parking space. He jumps out of the car, Taco Bell bag in his hand, and grins. "What the hell, man? If you'd have fucking called…"

"I wouldn't be a surprise." Anderson motions to the bag. "Enough to share?"

Tommy elbows Anderson out of the way and slips his key into the lock. "You still eat like one taco and then say you're full?"

"Uh huh."

"Then, yeah. I can share." Tommy drops his keys on the counter and digs in the refrigerator for a couple of beers. Passing the bag and a beer to Anderson, he says, "So, really, what the hell?"

Anderson shrugs. An action that should totally not be as elegant as he makes it. "Been expecting you to call after your massive coming out. When you didn't, thought I'd swing by. This is my first day off."

"Massive coming out? Wasn't really all that, old news by the next day."

"And, wow, TeeJay, those are some really good drugs you got going on if you believe that." Anderson rolls his eyes. "There is still chatter all over the place about you and, what's his name?"

"Jake," Tommy mumbles around a mouth full of taco. "And you damn well know that."

Anderson waves a hand back and forth, brushing off Tommy's comment. "You were climbing him like a tree, and I didn't even warrant a day after phone call. You call me when you fuck a girl, but not when you finally do a hot guy? You've turned into such a disappointment."

The sincerity is blown by the mischief in Anderson's eyes.

"Whatever, fucker." Tommy throws the taco wrapping in the garbage and, grabbing his beer, heads into the living room. "It's not like I planned for the entire universe to play witness, you know."

"Yeah, well, happened anyway." Anderson drops down on the couch next to Tommy. "Now, tell me, how was it? And does he have, like, a twin brother?"

* * *

  
Tommy is stretched out on the couch, damn near purring as Anderson drags his fingers through Tommy's hair, petting and scratching and just fucking loving his friend. This is a side of Anderson that Tommy knows is reserved for a very few. He's embarrassed by how much it means to him to be included in that number.

"You need to talk about anything?"

He thinks about the question before answering. "Probably."

Anderson chuckles softly. "I'm assuming you worked out the dynamics already."

"So it would seem. Fuck knows we were both pretty lit by the time we got here." And, yeah. This is who Tommy needed. Another guy he can pretty much say anything to who also happens to like dick. Not that Mia and Monte aren't great, just… Mia is a girl and Monte? As straight as they come. Neither really good for talking about what's going on in his head right now.

"A hook-up or a repeat?"

"He's coming over later tonight, movie and food, maybe more. Guessing that makes it a repeat hook-up." Tommy pushes his head against Anderson's hand, asking for more of the scratchy thing he does so well. "I mean, I ain't looking to, you know, start dating him or something."

"Nah, that place in your life belongs to Adam."

Tommy rolls away from Anderson's touch, damn near falls off the couch in his haste. "What the fuck is it with everyone and assuming if I banged a guy it would be Adam?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?" Anderson throws his head back and laughs. "Baby, have you even once paid attention to how you two are together? And I never said you wouldn't fuck another guy, I said the dating and relationship parts belong to Adam."

"Anderson," Tommy growls in warning.

"Oh no, Tommy. Do not try that with me. I'm the one that you came to when all of this started, remember that? House sitting for Adam, you fucking nutting up over the AMAs and Gridlock and the fact that Adam actually made your dick hard?" Anderson slides over the couch and wraps a hand around Tommy's wrist. "I was there with you when he got home. I'm the one that saw him just fucking wrap you in a hug and relax. You want to know why everyone expects it to be the two of you? It's because that is totally what _both_ of you put out there."

"Doesn't fucking matter what was put out there, this is now. And, Jake will be here in less than hour." Tommy jerks free of Anderson's grasp and crosses his arms over his chest. "So, thanks for coming by, but, yeah, time to go."

The emotional roller coaster is beginning to piss Tommy off. All the ups and downs and highs and lows. He needs an even keel, just one day where no one fucking even mentions the fact that everyone on the goddamn planet has proof that at fucking age twenty-nine Tommy has discovered the joys of gay sex.

And, seriously, fuck his friends for always bringing up the one person who isn't even talking to him now.

* * *

  
The second time Tommy wakes up with Jake in his bed is a different experience entirely. He's sober, remembers exactly what went on the night before, and he's comfortable. Very comfortable. All snugged up against a warm body with an arm heavy and grounding around his waist, not wanting to move even though his bladder is screaming and his back needs to be popped.

His lips twitch into a little smirky smile. He's learned a lot about himself over the past few days, some of it more surprising than other bits, but last night? Last night was a fucking eye opener.

Because Tommy Joe Ratliff pretty much turned into a wanton slut two seconds after Jake started sucking his dick. He tipped over into begging whore the instant, the fucking _instant_ , Jake slid one slicked-up finger into Tommy's ass, stretching and stroking and fucking teasing him from the inside.

So that whole toppy thing Tommy had assumed? Yeah, not so much. More that Jake really is a stand up guy and knew that Tommy was new and drunk and _new_ and instead of taking advantage, had turned the tables. He'd done the same thing last night. Blowing Tommy and fingering Tommy and reducing Tommy to a hot fucking mess. Then, when it came down to the actual fucking, rolling over and spreading his legs.

Not that Tommy had any issue with that. Not at all.

Tommy eases his way from under Jake's arm, the need to piss at the point of no return, and, once in the bathroom, goes about his wake-up routine: shower, shave, banishing the morning breath. The coffee pot is the next stop on his list.

He hears the shower kick on and hopes that Jake found the toothbrush on the counter, knows that Tommy left the wrapped up, brand spanking new thing out for him. When Jake steps into the kitchen, naked from the waist up and jeans riding low on his hips, when he leans in and whispers thanks and brushes a minty fresh kiss over Tommy's lips, Tommy grins.

"Morning, well, afternoon." Tommy motions towards the coffee pot. "Help yourself, sugar is in the canister, milk in the fridge."

Coffee in hand – straight black, which is something Tommy just cannot do – Jake leans against the counter. "I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again."

That makes two of them. Because even though Tommy thought about it, he wasn't really sure he had the balls to do it. Tommy shrugs. "Still took me a couple of days. You know, with the flipping out and all."

"After the way we showed up all over the web? Think you were entitled to a bit of a freak out." Jake blows across the top of his coffee, takes a few small sips. "I don't know how you deal with so many people throwing opinions and accusations at you."

"You just get where you ignore the people you don't know. Takes some pushing yourself to not worry about what strangers throw out there about you. But," Tommy shrugs, "you do what you gotta do."

"And the people you do know?"

Snorting, Tommy shakes his head. "You ignore them too. Until they show up banging on your door and forcing their way inside."

"Sounds like you've had a few pretty fucked up days." Jake takes a deep swallow of coffee, and then another. "At least you know it's still good on the job front. I mean, I doubt you'll be harassed or something over kissing a guy in public."

Tommy arches a brow. "Your boss say something to you?"

"Besides that it looked like a good time? Nah. But, really, that's like a huge worry for some people, you know?"

"I can imagine." Tommy isn't really concerned about actually losing his job. He's more worried and irritated over apparently losing his friend. "But, yeah, doubt it's something I have to worry about."

Setting his mug in the sink, Jake looks at Tommy and grins. "And speaking of work, I actually have to do that today."

"Yeah, I've got a meeting today too. Lane thinks I should have called her before I did all this." Tommy's hand does a flaily thing, motioning between the two of them.

"Call me, then?"

Tommy nods. He'll be calling. He's sure of it this time. "Yeah. But you know, nothing stopping you from doing the calling."

Tugging his t-shirt on, Jake shakes his head. "It's on you for now. Just, you know, even if all you want is an outside view, to talk something out 'til it makes sense, gimme a call."

Dropping his gaze to the ground, Tommy grunts an acknowledgment of the offer.

Jake stops at the door and says, "Seriously, man, I promise not to throw accusations or demand details."

"I hear you," Tommy replies. "Go to work; you don't need to give your boss a real reason to be pissy."

Long after Jake pulls away, Tommy wonders for the first time if a pissy boss is something that he really should be worrying about. The total lack of communication certainly implies it is.

* * *

  
Tommy is with Lane when Adam's plane lands in LA. He's standing right there, getting his ass handed to him for not calling Lane back sooner and for getting plastered all over the web while being, well, plastered and for a shit ton of other things that, really, Tommy doesn't even believe fall under the Lane's authority when her phone rings and Tommy hears Adam's big voice filtered through the shitty speakers on Lane's Blackberry.

He catches a few words. Things like _great interview_ and _fun nightlife_ and _Mom's here to get me, going to spend a few days with her_. Then when Lane mentions that she's with Tommy, all he hears is silence.

The look Lane gives Tommy – confusion and sympathy and, to his eternal embarrassment, pity – has him wanting to crawl under the table. Instead he motions to the door and makes his escape. She's done bitching at him for today, whether she thinks so or not.

He drives straight home, reckless and speeding, and then barricades himself in his bedroom. He purposely leaves his phone in the kitchen in silent mode.

Fuck if he wants to talk to anyone right now. Not until he gets this ridiculous urge to scream at Adam under control.

* * *

  
"Tommy, I expect to see you Sunday afternoon."

He sighs and pulls the phone away from his ear. He's been going in circles with Leila for twenty minutes now. If he'd known it was going to be like this, he'd have held off on returning her call. "Things are a little strained right now. And I know that Adam just got back yesterday…"

"Which is why I made these plans for this Sunday." Her voice is ringing with exasperated patience. Tommy feels like he's about two years old. "It gives Adam time to unwind and it won't interfere with family plans for Christmas Eve or Day."

Tommy finds himself agreeing to Leila's Glamily Holiday Dinner, even offering to bring wine or cookies or whatever the fuck she wants. Having her pleased with him is a hell of a lot better than suffering through more of that I'm-so-disappointed tone she's been using.

It's after he's committed to being there that Leila says, "I expect you and Adam to settle this thing between you, Tommy. Get it done before Sunday night, or I will lock you both in a room until you do. And believe me, you do not want to miss dinner because you're both being too much of a boy to actually talk to each other."

He's never really believed Adam's claim that his mother can be downright evil and wicked. Not Leila, who gives great hugs and brings Tommy thermoses of spiked hot chocolate. After that little display of hers, though, his opinion is decidedly different.

Glancing at the date on his phone, Tommy sighs. He's got three days before he'll _have_ to see Adam. It's nowhere near long enough.

* * *

  
"You owe me." Tommy weaves around another cluster of people. "I fucking hate the mall."

Dave rolls his eyes. "Gotta get gifts, man. Quit your bitchin'."

"And ordering them online wouldn't work? Seriously," Tommy waves a hand around, "this place is a zoo."

"Yeah, yeah," Dave mutters, then pushes Tommy towards a store.

"Gaming? Really?" Tommy shakes his head. "Didn't think we were shopping for you."

Then Tommy gets distracted by the piece of pretty working behind the counter and thinks that maybe, okay, he'll at least have something to do while Dave drools over the latest and greatest. She's not his usual type – more piercings, less tits – but she has a smile that makes Tommy stop and seriously take notice.

He waves Dave off, mumbles something about catching him on the way out, and heads straight for the counter. He leans against the glass, drops his head to the side, looks up through his lashes, and thinks, _Game on._

Fuck knows flirting is helluva more fun than even God of War.

An hour later, back in the mall proper and loaded down with bags, Tommy stumbles and barks a laugh when Dave says, "Always knew you're just a greedy bastard."

"Nah, man, I just…"

"Are a greedy fuck. Dark haired girls and broad shouldered guys." Dave cants his head to the side and grunts. "You know, even some of your girls have been broad shouldered."

Tommy's mouth flies open, snaps shut, then opens again. "You ass. I cannot believe you just said that."

Dave doubles over, holds an arm over his gut, and laughs and laughs. "You're so damn easy."

Chuckling, Tommy admits that, yeah, Dave's always found great joy in fucking with Tommy. "Nice to see some things haven't changed."

"Nah, take more than you doing a guy to make you any smarter."

Tommy totally hears what Dave's really saying, hears the easy acceptance of the sudden U-turn in Tommy's bed partners. His grin widens into a real smile, and he bumps his shoulder against Dave. "Thanks, man."

* * *

  
After standing at the door for a good two-and-a-half minutes, Tommy wipes his hands on his jeans and then knocks. He's no more ready to see Adam now than he was three days ago when Leila cornered him into coming. They still haven't spoken since the pictures broke. No tweets, no texts, no fucking nothing. It has Tommy completely off his game.

Tommy is not surprised at all. Adam's had him off his game for a while now.

"You came," Leila says by way of greeting and then wraps Tommy up in one of her hugs. This is where Adam learned to give such great hugs, Tommy would bet money on it.

Pulling back, Tommy brushes a kiss over her cheek and grins. "Didn't know I had a choice."

"You didn't," she replies, an unrepentant grin pulling the edges of her lips up. "I was completely prepared to come over and kidnap you. Terrance was going to help."

Tommy snorts softly. Terrance would have totally helped. He's just as cowed by Leila as Tommy is. "Not necessary, I'm here."

"Adam's on the deck."

And, yeah, that wasn't subtle at all.

"You two have an hour and then I'm locking you both outside."

The heat of a blush works its way over Tommy's neck and cheeks. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm serious, Tommy. You two have to get over this. You mean too much to each other to not get over it." She stops in front of a set of sliding glass doors. "I don't care what the outcome is, friends or more, as long as you both are happy. Now," she cups Tommy's face with her hands, forces him to meet her gaze head on, "go start fixing this."

Tommy steps back and nods. He wonders if it was Leila who got Adam and Brad over the hump, made them get back in each other's orbit when they broke up. Fuck knows she loves her kids enough to ask the hard questions and demand answers. Swallowing against the knot of nerves, he slides the glass door open and steps outside.

And just stands there, hidden behind the potted palm Leila has decorating the deck, and listens. Because Brad is there beside Adam and he's giving Adam a piece of his mind. If Tommy stands perfectly still, breathes in slow even breaths, he can hear the hissed words flying between Adam and his ex.

They're fighting, that much is obvious, and it's about Tommy. That much becomes clear when Brad's voice breaks the hushed whispers and he snaps, "He's a fucking blond little slut in a hoodie, and he's going to hurt you. Fuck, he has already."

Tommy's eyes go wide, a rebuttal building in his throat, when Adam growls right back. "Don't go there, Brad. He hasn't done anything wrong. There were no promises made or fucking broken."

"Nothing out loud, but I'm pretty much sure that there was enough unspoken…"

"No. You don't get it, you don't know. There was the stage and then there was me playing my way through the tour." Tommy can hear Adam moving around, the heavy footfalls that happen when he's pissed and not monitoring his every movement. "And I've avoided him, fuck, I've ignored him since everything broke."

"Why?"

And, yeah, Tommy'd like an answer to that too.

"So that by the time I saw him again, I could be happy for him instead of being bitchy."

"Adam," Brad sighs. "Don't let him hurt you. You're mine, the same way that he's Mia's. I can't… even if you bring it on yourself, I can't stand by and let him hurt you."

Tommy smiles a little. Adam instills loyalty in everyone. Right now, knowing that everything can still blow up, he's glad to know that no matter what happens Brad will be there for Adam, helping to put everything back together if necessary.

Reaching behind him, Tommy opens the sliding glass door again and then, making a noise, shuts it behind him. He moves from behind the plant and, looking between Adam and Brad, offers a quiet, "Hi."

Brad arches a brow at Adam, then frowns when Adam motions him to leave with a wave of his hand and a turn of his head. "Go away, Brad. This isn't yours."

Tommy feels Brad's glare long after the door closes behind him.

"How long were you standing there?"

Shaking his head, Tommy laughs softly. Should have known Adam would know he'd been hiding and eavesdropping. "Long enough to think about coloring my hair and giving up hoodies."

Adam winces. "About Brad…"

"He's just watching out for you," Tommy interrupts. "Can't fault him for that."

"Still, it was harsh."

"It was catty," Tommy says, "and perfectly Brad."

They both lean against the railing, looking everywhere except at each other. Tommy breaks the silence with a softly spoken, "So, bitchy?"

"Oh, yeah. Very bitchy." A blush colors Adam's face.

Tommy doubts that the thought of Adam being all bitchy should cause the warm rush of feelings that it does. "Ignoring me was fucked up."

"It was," and Adam's blush darkens. "I just couldn't right then."

"I thought you were pissed at me." No way is Tommy not saying everything he's been feeling, not now that he's started. "The one person I thought would be there, when I woke up and my world was completely fucking upside down, was you."

"Tommy."Adam's voice catches, and his eyes look sad, more grey than blue and just overloaded with emotion.

Tommy holds up his hand. "Let me, Adam. Just let me get this out, please."

Wrapping his arms around his middle, Adam jerks his head in consent.

"It wasn't planned. I didn't leave the house thinking about finding someone to bring home. I sure as hell didn't plan on finding a guy to hook up with. I was wasting time while you were in Florida." It's the first time Tommy's acknowledged that little fact, the first time he's confronted himself with the admittance that _he_ always thought it'd be Adam. "And I spent the day freaking out, wondering what my mom was going to say, what the media was going to do, wondering just how much I fucked up…"

Tommy looks away from Adam, closes his eyes and sighs. This was a bad idea. Telling Adam everything that was going on in his head. Blinking his eyes open, his tone defeated, he whispers, "I can't… look, it hurt and right now I just need to know where the hell we stand. Am I still in the band? Working on the album with you and Monte?"

"What? Why wouldn't you be?"

Adam steps towards Tommy. Tommy steps back, evading Adam's touch. That touch will break him right now. And Tommy really can't let that happen, not here with so many witnesses.

"Tommy, goddammit, yes. Yes you're still in the band, and yes I want you working the album." Adam drags a hand through his hair. "What an absolute clusterfuck."

"Welcome to my week." Tommy rolls his lips together, glances over his shoulder towards the house. "Come on, let's go in."

"But, we're not," Adam stops and sighs. "Nothing is settled."

"Settled enough to get through tonight." Tommy stops with his hand on the door handle. "Anything more needs to be done without an audience."

"Yeah, okay, okay." Adam moves close enough to Tommy that his breath ghosts over Tommy's skin. "Can I come over to your place tomorrow?"

Tommy nods and then, without another word, walks back inside.

* * *

  
The evening crawls by. Food sticking in his throat and tasting like cardboard, and the drinks honestly upsetting his stomach. Tommy sticks to water and a few of the lighter finger foods on display.

Everything about the group is off balance too. Brad keeps giving Tommy the hairy eyeball and Adam keeps reaching out, like he's gonna brush his hand over Tommy's arm or rest it against the small of his back, and then dropping back before they actually make contact, and everyone else keeps darting curious glances between Adam and Tommy and then back again. It's fucking annoying.

"You okay?" Terrance drops down beside Tommy.

Tommy shrugs. "Just weird, man. Nothing to worry about."

"Personally, I think you need to grab him and drag his ass back to your place." Terrance looks around the living room. "Don't think Leila would get too pissed about it."

"He's coming over tomorrow."

Terrance grabs the hem of Tommy's shirt as Tommy starts to push to a stand. "Do it tonight, Tommy. You two obviously started the conversation. Letting it rest? Not a good plan. Trust me on that, 'kay?"

Frowning, Tommy looks over his shoulder, finding Adam curled into a chair. Brad and Scarlett are bending his ear, both of them all up in his personal space like whoa, but still Adam looks alone. Like he's holding himself back, keeping distance between himself and everyone around him. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

"Of course I am, player. I do know the boy."

Tommy snorts softly. Even after seeing Adam's baby pictures, Tommy can't think of him as a boy.

Then Terrance breaks Tommy's train of thought with a push to his hip. "Get him and go. I'll cover with everyone else."

* * *

  
Tommy watches the headlights of Adam's Mustang in his rearview mirror. It'd been amazingly easy getting Adam to leave with him, the only concession being that Adam wanted his car. In case, Tommy knows, things go to shit in a hurry. Adam always has to have a way out, a back-up plan.

Tommy appreciates that trait. He needs the drive back to his place to get his thoughts in order, figure out what the fuck he's gonna say. He doesn't even know exactly what needs to be said, what they need to talk about. He just knows it has to change, that the past week has been hell enough to last a year.

He pulls into his usual space right in front of his apartment and kills the engine. Adam takes one further away, hidden in the shadows and not visible unless you're looking for it. It's just another thing that Adam has to do to maintain even the smallest level of privacy. Unlocking the door, Tommy mutters, "Crazy."

Tommy leaves the front door open and, tossing his keys on the counter, flips the switch and floods the room with light. By the time Tommy hears Adam shut the front door, he's got mugs on the counter and water boiling on the stove. A cup of tea sounds really good right now.

He blames Adam for his completely unmanly addiction to the stuff.

Looking over his shoulder, he asks, "Tea? I've got lemon and peppermint and a vanilla chai thing."

Adam quirks a small grin and nods. "Peppermint would be nice."

Neither of them says anything else. Adam perches on a bar stool at the counter and watches Tommy make two mugs of tea. He slides the peppermint to Adam, then doses his vanilla chai with sugar. It's after Tommy hops up on the counter and both them are sipping cautiously at their steaming drinks that Adam says, "So, Jake?

Taking another sip of tea, Tommy just lets the words tumble around in his head. Setting his mug to the side, he says, "He's… he's a good guy. Hasn't run to the press, avoided them when they found him."

"Yeah, I noticed. But, Tommy, how'd he treat you?"

Tommy drops his gaze to the counter and blushes, knowing exactly what Adam is asking about. How in the fuck was he supposed to answer that? "Um, good. I topped. I mean, we did some other… Jesus, Adam. He didn't hurt me or anything."

"Good. I was worried."

For some reason, that just pisses Tommy off. "You were worried? You were _worried_?"

Adam looks at Tommy with wide eyes. "Yeah. I didn't want… my first time sucked. I wouldn't have wanted that for you."

Tommy looks away from Adam, stares at the plain white walls of his kitchen. He bites down on his bottom lip, trying his best to curb the flash of anger that Adam's _concern_ brings. And then it bubbles out anyway. "I cannot fucking believe you." Tommy slides off the counter, his creepers hitting the floor with a solid thud. "I just spent a week thinking that you were fucking pissed at me. I wondered if I'd lost my fucking best friend, if maybe I blew the goddamn gig. All because you ignored me. And now you tell me you were worried?"

He shakes his head and pushes by Adam, jerking his body sideways to avoid Adam's reaching touch. "You weren't too fucking _worried_ when I was making myself sick with the thought that you of all people deserved to not hear that shit on Twitter."

Adam follows Tommy into the living room. "I'm your best friend?"

Without thinking, Tommy blurts out, "You're my fucking everything."

Wincing, Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. He cannot believe he actually said that out loud. To Adam. Defeated, drained from the past week, from the argument with Adam, Tommy sighs. This isn't how this was supposed to go.

Arms overlapping, with one hand holding his own shoulder and the other tightening on his waist, Tommy walks over to the window and focuses his eyes beyond the reflection in the glass, staring into the inky darkness of the night. He hears Adam moving around behind him, the quiet squeak of shoes working against tile. Tension builds around him, the sense of failure and frustration mounts with every drag of Adam's feet.

Movement in the window, the image of Adam inching closer, draws Tommy's gaze away from the sky, takes his thoughts away from a quieter time, and forces him back into the here and now. He sees Adam reach out with one hand, hears the whispered plea – _Tommy_ – and, for a fraction of a moment, Tommy thinks about rebuffing the overture.

Then he notices the look in Adam's eyes. The worry and the confusion and the hint of desperation, the need to make this thing between them right, whatever the fuck right is for them. It's everything Tommy's been feeling since waking up with a man in his bed. That look, the shadowed regret in Adam's eyes, breaks Tommy in a way that nothing else has.

He lets his hand fall away from his waist, then slowly extends his arm back until his fingers brush Adam's.

Adam sighs and, fingers curling together, takes the last step, moves into Tommy's space. He wraps an arm around Tommy's middle and pulls back, not relenting on his grasp until Tommy is flush against him, back to front.

Tommy holds himself stiff, fights against the urge, the natural inclination to just melt into the embrace. They've stood like this before, so many times when one of them needed the support of the other. It's easy and familiar and Tommy wants it, wants the comfort the position has always brought. But for the first time ever, he's leery of Adam, wary that the offer, that the implication of protection and help and understanding, is temporary. That it won't be there in the morning.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy Joe," Adam whispers in his ear. "I saw the pictures and just… I wanted to fucking scream. I was so pissed."

"Why?"

When Adam stays silent, Tommy bumps his hips back. "Why were you pissed?"

"Why him? Why Jake?"

Shaking his head, Tommy pulls away and, turning, motions to the couch. He waits until Adam sits down and then takes the corner the furthest away. "Is that the real question? You honestly want to know why it's Jake in those pictures with me?"

Adam nods once, short and curt. "Yeah."

"I don't think it is. But, whatever, man." Tommy huffs, rolls his lips together and then, taking a deep breath, says, "I was drunk and he was there. Just like any other fucking hook-up."

He tilts his head to the side and stares at Adam. "Why were you pissed?"

"It was all over fucking Twitter, Tommy." Adam growls the words with a hard edge, like he's barely holding onto his temper. "I turned my phone on to text you and got slammed with pictures of you and _Jake_ so into each other that you didn't even notice someone with a camera. Do you know how much that fucking hurt?"

"We never…"

"I know," Adam snaps, cutting Tommy off. "We never _anything_. We never talked about any of it. Not the stage antics, not the shit happening off stage. Not how my going out made you feel or how you hanging with Monte and Isaac fucking annoyed me so goddamn much. We never did more than hint at a possibility of more, and even then it was more joking than real. I know, believe me, I know _everything_ we never."

Tommy drags a hand through his hair and pushes to a stand. He needs a break from this conversation. And a fucking drink. Something a helluva lot stronger than the damn tea he made earlier. "Drink?"

"Please."

He heads into the kitchen wondering just where the fuck this could possibly go from here. They had to be hitting bottom soon, hitting bottom so they could fucking start heading back up, away from this depressing, aggravating, _hurting_ place they're circling right now. He grabs a bottle of Jack and two mismatched tumblers and heads right back into the fray. Terrance's suggestion to finish this tonight makes sense now. Given any time apart, Tommy would've talked himself right out of having this discussion.

He sets the tumblers on the coffee table and pours himself a generous measure before sliding the bottle towards Adam. "Help yourself."

Tommy tosses his first drink back, swallows twice against the burn, and then, after Adam does the same and pours himself a second, Tommy splashes another shot into his glass. "What the fuck is going on here, Adam?"

Adam looks away from Tommy.

"Seriously, what the hell? Like you said, we never, so why?" Tommy scoots down the couch, reaches out and touches Adam's arm, draws Adam's gaze back to him. "Just fucking why?"

"Because it was supposed to be me, dammit," Adam nearly shouts.

"Then why the fuck wasn't it?" The words rush out of Tommy unchecked, just as loud, just as harsh as Adam's. Then, sighing, he lowers his voice and says, "If that is what it was supposed to be, why wasn't it?"

"I don't know." Adam squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose. Then, after downing his second shot of whiskey, he says, "I don't fucking know."

Tommy rolls his glass between his palms then, draining the amber liquor, sets it on the table. "For the record, you aren't the only one thinking it was supposed to be you."

A choked off curse – _motherfucker_ – is all the warning Tommy gets before Adam is wrapping his arms around Tommy and Tommy is burying his face into Adam's chest, shuddering with the effort of holding himself together, of not letting himself shatter into a million pieces now that everything seems to finally be heading towards okay.

* * *

  
Tommy wakes up with his head stuffy and his eyes full of grit. Because the minute the door shut behind Adam last night, Tommy caved and let the emotions just fucking fly. And now he feels like an idiot. An idiot with puffy eyes and, he's pretty sure, a splotchy red nose. At least he'd held it together until he was alone.

He does the only thing he can think of: calls Mia and begs for company. And food. Something greasy and messy and totally not good for him.

By the time she gets there – bag of burgers and fries in one hand, case of Coke in another – he's showered and dressed. A huge step in his opinion.

"You look like shit."

Tommy grabs the bag and flips her off. "Some friend you are."

Sticking her tongue out, Mia pulls glasses from the cabinet. "I'm here, with those nasty ass burgers you like so much. And a double order of fries."

Tommy stays silent because, yeah, she has a point. They smooth the wrappers out, pour pools of ketchup in the corners, and Tommy adds a fuck-ton of salt to his fries.

After Tommy eats a handful of fries, Mia asks, "Wanna tell me what's going on, Teej?"

"Adam came over last night."

"Oh." A series of emotions flit across Mia's face. Worry, wonder, satisfaction. "And?"

Tommy swallows, washes down more fries with a large gulp of Coke. Then he starts talking. He talks about Brad and Jake and Adam. About the conversation and the misunderstandings, and the fact that now, with it all out there in the open, he still has no fucking idea what he's doing or where this is going, even if he does kinda know where he'd like things to head. Tommy talks and talks and talks. Then he finally winds down, out of breath and running out of words. Picking up his drink, he says, "And then, before he left, he fucking asked me out."

"Asked you out?" Mia drags a fry through the puddle of ketchup. "Like on a date?"

Tommy nods, his mouth full of greasy cheeseburger.

"He took you around the world, to Paris and Milan and fucking Amsterdam, and now, back in smoggy old LA, he wants to take you on a date?" She shakes her head, takes a long pull of her Coke. "You two have the most fucked up timing of any hundred people I know."

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, Tommy says, "Yeah, probably. But, really, what the fuck are we gonna do on a date? Seriously, Mia, we fucking lived on a goddamn bus together for months."

Shrugging, Mia grins. "I think it's sweet."

So does Tommy. Not that he's turned into enough of a smitten fool to actually tell Mia that. She'd never let him live it down. Instead, he mutters, "Whatever."

"You don't want to go on a date with Adam?"

He feels the blush start before he even opens his mouth. Fucking Mia and her insane ability to ask the right questions. "It's not that I _don't_ want to."

Mia arches a brow. "But?"

Tommy huffs a sardonic laugh. He's gonna sound like an idiot.

"Come on, Tommy," Mia says softly. "Tell me what's rolling around in your head."

"A date means it's real." And, yeah, that makes it all clear as mud. Shaking his head, Tommy starts again. "What if… what if this thing between us, with me and Adam, what if it really is just the show? What if we end up on this _date_ and we can't even find something to talk about?"

"You're scared."

"No," Tommy snaps, his first instinct to deny, deny, deny. Except that, yeah, he is. "Maybe. Just a little."

Mia nods, an understanding look in her eyes. "It's safer not knowing. At least it feels safer."

"I just don't wanna fuck this up more than it already is."

"Too late. The time for acting like nothing changed is over." She comes around the counter and wraps an arm around Tommy's shoulders. "You've got a choice to make, walk away from the idea of Adam or try it on. Either way, there is no more pretending, no safe option."

"What if we suck at this? What if it just makes everything worse?"

"Worse than not knowing?"

Huh. Okay. Tommy really hadn't gotten that far in his thoughts. "Well, fuck."

"Not on the first date." Devilment shines in Mia's eyes. "Well, unless, you know, the night includes a really nice restaurant and lots of expensive whiskey."

Laughing, Tommy slaps at Mia's arm. "You're a bitch, you know?"

"Ah, but I am _your_ bitch, Tommy-baby." She gives him a loud smacking kiss on his temple then, bumping Tommy with her hip, says, "Now, where is he taking you on this date?"

* * *

  
"Yeah, man, we should totally do that." Tommy motions Adam in with one hand and shuts the door behind him. "Actually he's here now."

Slipping his keys into his pocket, Tommy nods and then says, "Will do. Later."

Ending the call, he looks at Adam. "Hey."

It comes out way quieter, way shier than Tommy has ever been with Adam.

Adam ducks his head and, lips quirking, returns with an equally reserved, "Ready?"

Tommy's gut clenches. They're both being weird. Fucking lovely.

"Um, yeah." Tommy heads out the door and heads straight to Adam's car, trusting Adam to lock it behind him. He just has to get away from the stress and the strain that simple conversation is proving to be.

Adam slides into the driver's seat and the engine roars to life. The first few miles of the trip are taken in silence. Both of them cutting their eyes over, sneaking but not really sneaking little looks at one another, until finally, caught at another red light, Adam sighs. "This is stupid, huh?"

Tommy snorts softly. He was so right. This? Huge mistake. "The date?"

"What? No, fuck. The way we're not even talking to each other." Adam looks over at Tommy and frowns. "You think the date is a mistake?"

"I think there is a fuck of a lot riding on dinner." Tommy drags a hand through his hair. "I just… " The words drop off as Tommy looks around, taking in exactly where they are, the direction they're heading. "Are we going to Leila's?"

Adam blushes. "Um, yeah. She's not going to be there or anything. But, I don't have my own place, and really, I couldn't, like, ask you out and then eat at your place. So…" Adam flips the turn signal on and shrugs. "Just seemed like a good idea. I mean, no paps, no fans. Figured we could talk without worrying about who might hear us."

Makes sense. And how Tommy didn't think about paps and camera carrying fans – which, honestly, he's glad he didn't – is beyond him. Especially after the whole Jake and Twitter and oh, my fuck that happened last time he pushed those things to the back of his mind. "Just tell me you didn't cook."

"Hell, no." Adam looks at Tommy like he's sprouted a unicorn horn, all shiny and golden and right in the middle of his forehead. "You know I can't cook. Not anything that I'd actually expect someone else to eat." The blush springs up again. "Mom cooked before she left."

Tommy chuckles and then, when Adam giggles too, laughs outright. And just like that, the air around them goes from heavy and oppressive to their usual playfulness. Tommy sighs in relief.

Maybe this won't be too bad after all.

* * *

  
The easy conversation sticks with them through the rest of the ride and until they're standing in the kitchen, Adam washing and rinsing and Tommy drying and stacking. The domesticity of it is ridiculously amusing to Tommy. Then Adam asks, "Who were you on the phone with when I got there?"

Tommy swallows once. "Jake."

The look on Adam's face is one that Tommy has seen before. He's trying to hold back a snapping retort, a demand for answers. Tommy almost grins when he sees the flash of possessive jealousy lance through Adam's eyes. He doesn't wallow in the crazy warm feeling for long before explaining. "Anderson thought I should call him, give him a heads up that, you know, we were going out."

"Uh huh." Adam stops washing, just holds the glass in his hand and stares at Tommy.

Rushing on, Tommy adds, "Yeah, he said it'd be polite since the guy was so stand-up about not talking to the press and all."

Adam's brow furrows together, and he drops his gaze to the glass in his hand. "Still not seeing why Jake needed to know."

"Because, you know, if we," Tommy flings a hand between him and Adam, "were out in public and someone saw us, they'd probably call him again, Perez would definitely try calling him again…" Tommy lets the words trail off, lets Adam put it together from there.

"So, you still talk to him."

He should have known that Adam would focus on that, hone in on the fact that Tommy was still in contact with Jake. Tommy shrugs. "Never can have too many friends."

"I suppose."

"Hey," Tommy taps Adam's foot with his own. "I'm here, yeah?"

"Yeah." Adam gives him a crooked smile. "You are."

Drying his hands off, Adam reaches behind Tommy and comes back with a familiar thermos. "Mom left us hot chocolate. Just needs to be heated a little."

"I'm going to owe her flowers or something."

"Right?" Adam pours the creamy chocolate into a saucepan. "I think she likes you more than she likes me."

"What?" Tommy laughs.

"This?" Adam motions towards the slowly warming drink. "Was all for you."

He leans in close, looks into the saucepan. "That mean I don't have to share it with you?"

"Tommy!" The tone is playfully scandalous, and Adam's accompanying pout is adorable.

Tommy widens his eyes, presses his palm against his chest and returns with, "Adam!"

Then, when they're both grinning, both on the verge of laughing, Tommy tilts his head to the side, pushes to his toes, and brushes his lips across Adam's. The kiss is chaste, a simple flittering touch of lips.

"Oh," Adam sighs. He uses one hand to push the saucepan off the heat, and the other to tug Tommy in closer, whispering, "Tommy Joe."

Then he kisses Tommy. Drags his lips over Tommy's jaw and then darts his tongue out, licking against the line of Tommy's mouth.

Tommy sinks into Adam's embrace, opens his mouth and welcomes the invasion, then pushes his way into Adam's mouth. He's assaulted by the combination of wine and spicy chicken. Then, much too soon, he pulls back, breaks the kiss with a quiet moan. If he lets the kiss go on, no matter how much he _wants_ the kiss to go on, _if_ he lets the kiss go on, they'll end up in bed.

They're not ready for that. Not if this is going to work, if this thing between them is going to have a chance at becoming real.

"So," he says, voice deeper, breaths still harsh, "is my hot chocolate ready?"

Adam presses his lips against Tommy's hair. "Yeah, I think so. Go on, find some music or something, I'll bring it out."

"Yeah, okay."

Just as Tommy reaches the kitchen's threshold, Adam says, "I'm not gonna leave you again. Not unless you tell me to."

Tommy turns around, a wary set to his shoulders. "Adam."

"I mean it. I fucked up; I'll probably fuck up again." Adam looks down and away, then raises his head and focuses his eyes on Tommy. "But I won't do that. No matter what, I'll be here."

"There's a lot left to…" Tommy lets the words fade, his hands spreading a little, gesturing where his words are failing.

"Yeah," Adam's lips curl at the edges, "but we got time."

Tommy heads into the living room smiling. Because, yeah, they really do.

 

* * ♥ * *

 

This fic with cover art is available for PDF download [here.](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=62WACGO8)


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